


Hold Me Together

by APenguinAteMySmarthphone



Series: Where Sleeping Lions Lie [2]
Category: HiGH&LOW (Movies), HiGH&LOW: THE WORST (TV), HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, GOD now it's starting to sound dark, Headcanon, I mean it's supposed to but..., Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Speculation, You can read it that way, hopefully, other characters not mentioned in tags, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APenguinAteMySmarthphone/pseuds/APenguinAteMySmarthphone
Summary: A sort-of continuation to Under the Layers of Gold, told from Fujio's perspective.Fujio watches his partnerーwatches Tsukasaーmore closely than others think he does. In fact, he watches Tsukasa more than Tsukasa himself realizes, and he's perfectly fine with that. He's perfectly happy with the way his partner is, the distance between them perfect enough to test without risking it to break.Except one night he is forced to come to terms with just how twisted things between them have become, leaving him to wonder how long he can afford to let his partner remain as he is, the way he wants him.
Relationships: Hanaoka Fujio/Takajo Tsukasa
Series: Where Sleeping Lions Lie [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903306
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Hold Me Together

**Author's Note:**

> The tags have some very heavy and dark issues in them but they're all very loosely implied, so it can actually be interpreted in different ways, hopefully. I just couldn't find anything adequately appropriate to describe what exactly I had in mind (see the end notes for a little more detail). Also (of course) it's completely non-canon compliant.
> 
> Someone posted something about Tsukasa and Fujio and, I quote, their "gay fight in the rain" (credits to whomever it was, I hope you'll see this), and well, since I can't find too much content on them I decided I'd do it myself. Wow, sometimes I wonder how I never get tired of myself. Or maybe I do...
> 
> Anyway, please read and (hopefully) enjoy!

"Well," Fujio can pick up the sigh in Tsukasa's voice, as easily as he can pick up a rock, or run his fingers through sand to let it pour through his fingers. He's heard it many times overーhe knows, with confidence in his ability to do so, how to identify each and every emotion his partner feels; what he does and doesn't show on the surface. "Next time we decide to pick a fight in a place with the dirtiest grounds in all of Japan, maybe we should check if it won't rain first." Droplets of water are running off the ends of his hair as he regards the blonde between his bangs, his normally styled-up hair, pushed back like the crest of a windswept cardinal, falling over his face. His partner is no better; his dyed hair is a mess of light blonde, lightly colored threads falling loosely across the entirety of his visage to make him look even more youthful and innocent than he really is. Fujio wonders at how the owner of such a light voice and delicate-looking face managed to land themselves here. Appearances, he knows, do no one's fighting ability justice (in some cases, yes; in theirs, probably not), but it doesn't stop him from wondering. 

(Not that he would ever complain.)

There's rainwater in his shoes and mud splatters on every inch of his clothesーit's worse than that time he and Tsukasa fought, near his grandfather's place, when they had practically tried to beat each other senseless, surrounded on all sides by pouring rain and slippery mud, the large lake he had stared at almost every day since he had moved watching their fight like a silent spectator. The mud on the ground is too slippery, especially for his worn shoes, and for Tsukasa's; he doesn't ask, but he knows he hasn't gone to buy a new pair for years, and he's sure that whoever lives in his house with him probably hasn't gone out of their way to recommend it either. He can't pry, thoughーthey both know that expecting the norms of a traditional family in this place is a bit of a thin stretch, with a few fairly decent exceptions here and there. 

Today's opponents, he reckons, will wake up with mud caked on their face and rainwater in their noses, their uniforms stiff with muck and dirt. They all have bloody noses or cracked lips, and he's pretty sure he saw a tooth fly off somewhere. One of them lies face down in the mud, and, feeling some amount of sympathy for the unconscious guy, he decided to at least turn him on his back. Tsukasa is trying to push his hair back, to no avail; the water is slipping down his white face, caked with dirt and bruised. Staring at the purplish mark marring his partner's right cheek, Fujio marvels that he has gotten so used to the sight he's able to control the rush of fiery emotions that emerge when seeing it; they're there, but he's learned by now how to control them, to make it seem as if he is accustomed to the sight and not concerned in the slightest. Because he knows his partner is prideful, and questioning him over and over with concern is bound to annoy him to some degree, no matter how lenient he is to his closest friend. So he stares at the bruise, and loses himself in wondering how many more cover that surprisingly well-built body, which only looks so thin and breakable because of the clothes he wears. 

As his partner empties the water from his shoes and tries to wipe the mud from his face, cursing softly under his breath, he watches the thinness of his wrists as they move busily, still as graceful as when they send a punch flying straight into someone's jaw; he watches the crease in his brow, which hardly ever drops, either from the brightness of the day or merely because it's an expression he's adopted since before Fujio even knew him, a time Tsukasa didn't tend to talk too much about. He's heard bits and snippets from what Jamuo knows, or what Yasushi implies, or what the other members of Hope Hillーlike Tsuji and Shibaーvaguely remember. Tsukasa knows more about Fujio than he thinks Fujio knows about himーbut Fujio knows a surprising amount, and it's not all stuff he was told.

He knows things because he's _seen_ them before, patterns to recognize and tie into some part of his understanding of the world, where waking up and discovering a bruised and battered body not a few paces away from your doorstep was perfectly normal. But no one thinks he knows as much as he knows, because he's spent enough time acting that way to make them believe itーnever mind that it is more a method for him to retain some brightness and cheer despite the complex being what it is. He's got his childhood friends, too, to thank for that. They're like the many planets in the solar system that makes him _him,_ and it keeps him grounded to being simply a boy whose dream is to reach the top.

(He wonders if Tsukasa has ever had anyone like that, ever, in his lifeーsomeone who he can call a sibling, a trusted friendーfrom start to finish; someone he trusts because he's merely had them his whole life. If Jamuo heard him wondering this, he would likely respond by pointing out that that very person was the one wondering this question.)

In the distance he sees Todoroki and his friendsーit confuses him for a moment, that they're here, until he reckons they had heard about the fight from someone else and had thought to pass by. Or that they had really just simply been passing through, by total coincidence. They don't really stop, or come up; likely the large amount of mud and the growing puddles that are slowly spreading to the size of lakes is off-putting to them, Todoroki in particular. The stoic and no-nonsense head of the full time students wasn't a clean-freak by any means, but if the fight had not involved him in the first place, he tended to avoid scenes like this, where he would get unnecessarily filthy. Fujio didn't see the problem, but Tsukasa had only rolled his eyes when he said this, responding with,

"Can you imagine Todoroki playing around in the rain and mud and _willingly_ getting dirty?"

To which Fujio had thought for a whole three minutes, before shaking his head no. _See?_ Tsukasa's face seemed to say, a knowing and conspiratorial grin spreading across his small face. 

Now he could see that Todoroki's group wasn't aloneーfor some reason, Yasushi and Kiyoshi were there, too, each of them sopping wet and with bruised faces; blood was pouring down Kiyoshi's nose, and Yasushi appeared to be arguing avidly with Todoroki about some manner, a giant bruise, blackish and smudge-liked, spread across his arm from under his rolled up sleeves. Shiba cast the two of them a look of faint amusement, while Tsuji ignored them completely to raise his hand slightly in Fujio and Tsukasa's direction, sunglasses covered in droplets of water. As if on cue, Yasushi and Kiyoshi turned their heads towards the two, and Fujio felt his usual excitement bubble up at the sight of his fellow Oya High studentsーthe thrill he felt when he was surrounded by people with whom casual conversation could immediately become a brawl. Todoroki shot him an expressionless look, before gesturing at the two as if to say "they're all yours", while his two friends shot each other looks loaded with amusement. 

That was, he knew, his cue: if he didn't walk up to them in turn, Todoroki would get away, and a chance to mess around with his fellows was a chance Fujio was loathe to miss, even after a fight that had left him more winded than he had given their opponent's credit for. But even as he made to dash forward towards the othersーthey had resumed squabbling even as the Yasushi-Kiyoshi pair called out challenges at themーhis eyes flitted back to Tsukasa, whose gaze had shifted to the side when his eyes met Fujio's, instead focusing on the group ahead of them, all grievances about the rain and the mud on his clothes forgotten.

Even if Tsukasa tries to hide it, Fujio has seen that look numerous timesーthe one where the blonde's eyes became soft, as if infused with a warm light, which he used to look upon the latter; the gentleness of the look was hard to imagine, given his normal countenance of immense annoyance or boredom, or simply cool disinterest, but it was also a very Tsukasa-like look, although if he said so to his partner, he would be met with a fight and a look of incomprehension.

(He doesn't try to deny that he would have liked to see the boy flustered; he's long given up on denying any of those thoughts, instead focusing his efforts at being able to hide them flawlessly. It's an acquired skill.)

Tsukasa's falling hair can't hide the large bruise blooming on his face, like an oversized lilac, nor can it hide the blood splattered here and there, both his and his opponent's. It had been a while since he'd seen the other get so serious. The brown of the mud mixed with the brownish red of the dried blood, from oozing nosebleeds to split lips, all injuries which Tsukasa had made on their foes' bodies without hesitation, the sight a picture of graceful violenceーit put in mind a lion on the hunt, prowling after its prey and striking with a ferocity that went unparalleled. And that grace was _his,_ and no one else's, and the proof of his grace were the victims who had fallenーa small price, he always thinks, to see those picturesque movements, to see that swell of ferocity and elegance. _He's_ usually the one who can't focus on anything but the opponent in front of him, and yet he finds those movements always flicking in the corner of his vision. But he never lets that fall under the blonde's noticeーand he does a good job, he thinks, because even now his trusted partner continues to be the one who watches their surroundings with the utmost caution, trying to make up for Fujio's blind spots, not noticing the care with which the raven-haired youth watches him. Sometimes Fujio worries he really does, but there is no indication, and each time he breathes a sigh of deep relief.

Even that lilac bruise blooming on his porcelain-white face, he thinks, looks beautiful there, like a flower, but it was the mark of someone else having touched someone they never should have touched, of having scarred something they never should have chanced upon. Staring at the bruise, which stretched and moved with Tsukasa's mouth, he wondered how it would feel to run his finger across its petals. How the other would react.

* * *

"Who did you steal that from this time?"

When he glances up, the first thing he sees is Tsukasa's brow creased, eyes focused on the thing in his partner's hands. The large white bandage covering his right cheek is the only proof on him of yesterday's fightーa far cry from Fujio's own, which is covered in small band-aids on tiny scars and scrapes, and a large white bandage to cover the bump on his forehead. Tsukasa is better, he notices, at hiding his own injuries; under his clothes and behind well-placed bandages, covering the scars like a well-kept secret. Unlike himself, where he wasn't embarrassed to have his bandages on display (he wasn't particularly _proud_ about getting injured, either), reckoning they would fall off in another fight sooner or later. Besides, an injury in this school was commonplace; no one would question it, even when they should.

(His mind inevitably turns to a memory of middle school: finding Tsukasa hunched under the steps of an apartment complex far from his own, furiously scrubbing blood out of a shirt as he wrapped a bandage with less expertise than he could now around his arm. He hadn't noticed Fujio watching him as he unrolled the sleeves to their full length, even in the summer's heat, nor had he reacted to his presence when he had crept closer to catch a glimpse of his friend closing up his shirt, down to the last button to hide his pale collarbone. Fujio had pretended to wander there by chance when his friend had emerged, face oddly expressionless. There were no traces of tears or anger, just a sullen resignation that he seemed to harbor somewhere in the back of his mind. Fujio never told him he had seen, nor did he ever ask. He wanted to ask.)

"Fujio," He blinks and is pulled back to the present; Tsukasa is now giving him an odd look. "Are you okay?" There's a note of concern in his voice, and he immediately shakes his head, trying to respond in his brightest voice. Paper crinkles in his hands as he shows Tsukasa his recent find, trying to cover up the momentary awkwardness with some good cheer. Behind his fingers is a lineup of sleek dark vehicles, all the sort he dreams of and knows he can't have yet, not just because of the monetary value. It doesn't stop him from dreaming, though. 

(There are two brothers, he knows, in the SWORD territory somewhere who ride similar bikes, sleek and dark and powerful, and ever since he had caught a glimpse of them he's been fantasizing in his head what it would be like to own one himself.)

"This?" Grinning, he flipped the magazine over to show his friend, Jamuo leaning in from the side, mouth stuffed with jam bread. "It's a bike magazine. Yasushi lent it to me."

"Lent?" Tsukasa's eyebrow twitched. "Are you sure he _lent_ it to you? As in, he gave it to you himself and said you could borrow it?" Next to him Jamuo gets oddly twitchy, eyes flicking back and forth from the door to the roof to his two seniors. No one else was on the roof that day; it was cold, and the three of them were wearing clothes slightly warmer than the ones they normally did. Being the dead of winter, almost, he reckoned that they wouldn't have much company on the roof for a while now.

They don't need to say anything to each otherーthey all hear the noises of furious shouting, the pound of someone's footsteps racing towards them, growing closer by the minute. As if it's an ingrained instinct, Jamuo clung to Tsukasa while the blonde calmly craned his neck behind him, Fujio following suit, just in time to see the door fly open with enough force to nearly take it off its hinges, Yasushi battering through with a furious shout of, "FUJIO, YOU ASSHOLE!!!"

Tsukasa heaved a deep sigh. "Fujio, I don't think you know what the definition of 'borrow' is, do you."

Before he can respond Yasushi is stalking up to them, swiping the coveted magazine out of his hands with a fierce rustle of paper, nearly smacking Fujio in the eyes. Letting out a whiny protest, he tried to take it back, only to have Tsukasa lean over and give up a clean flick in the forehead with his finger, eyes dancing with amusement and exasperation. Yasushi sticks his tongue out, holding the magazine to his chest like a child, before smacking him over the head and shouting up and down about disturbing him in the room he and his friends hung out in and taking what he was reading abruptly without a single word, only to leave and sayーvery cheekily, according to their long-haired rivalー"I'm borrowing this for a bit!" before leaving, as quickly as he had come. Tsukasa shot Fujio another look, shaking his head in disappointment. 

"You _really_ need to learn how to properly borrow things, Fujio." His partner leaned back on the sofa with a sigh.

"I do! I mean, I _said_ I was gonna borrow it..."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you askedー" "And you sounded like a cheeky little bastard when you did it, you jerk!" "Yasushi, _don't_ interrupt me." Tsukasa and Yasushi are glaring each other down, and Fujio finds himself reminded that these two share some sort of history (along with Kiyoshi, who was, oddly enough, absent from his partner's side). He can't say it doesn't interest him, because it does, but at the same time something tells him it's deeper and more personal than the rivalry he had seen between them, which he had pushed his way into and become a part of. It's not completely resentment or hatred, yet it's not some sort of broken friendship either; it's not simple, he thinks, but any further deduction is too complicated for him to follow. But he's not so dumb as to not understand that it's the sort of history that one can't lightly bring up; it would be like needing to prepare to tread through a minefield of broken glass. 

There's a bit of awkward silence, the only sound around them the whistle of the bitterly cold wind and Jamuo's occasional sounds of worried distress, which is finally broken by a very cheerful, albeit out of place, shout of "YASUSHIIII!" from below, the voice familiar and making the person in question roll his eyes skyward, muttering, "I've told the idiot not to yell like that when he looks for me..." Tsukasa's face softened slightly as he gave the other a light shove towards the exit, away from the sofa.

"Go on," His normally calm partner's voice is the tiniest bit teasing. "Your buddy is lonely and misses you."

"You're one to talk, sleeping beauty," was the snorted response. "You should've _seen_ him, Fujio; while you were gone he was just this unmovable mess, and he thought about you allー" " _Yasushi._ " Grinning, Yasushi slowly backed off, hands raised in mock apology. His grin was slightly manic (as it always was), but there was a hint of vague satisfaction to it, vanishing as quickly as it had come, already gone by the time he had walked off in the direction of the stairs. They all heard the louder than necessary slam of the door as it was swung open and slammed shut.

"One of these days," Tsukasa muttered, "That door is gonna fly off its hinges and nobody will bother paying for a new one. Or to repair it."

" _We_ could," Fujio pointed out, pulling at the bandage just short of his brow, covering yet another scrape. He hadn't thought the other guy's punch would send him flying so spectacularly into the mud, but it had. And he hadn't taken into account that the ground _was_ originally not soft and slippery, but instead covered in stones and weeds, a veritable bruising ground for anyone who fell down too hard. 

"I...don't think we have the money..." Jamuo mumbled, eyes on the door now that Tsukasa had expressed his (somewhat sarcastic) concern. Their junior is always oddly serious about the things the two of them (more Tsukasa than Fujio, he notices) say at times, regardless of whether they meant it or not. Tsukasa had once offhandedly mention his (very dry) sympathy for one of the first-year's classroom doorsーNakagoshi had actually kicked it off its hinges once, and a year after it had been repaired, his junior and partner Nakaoka had done, quite literally, the exact same thing. Upon hearing this, Jamuo had actually gone and checked if the door was intactーand when he had reported that it was, his two seniors had already forgotten the blonde's comment. 

"Fujio," Tsukasa sighed, "You don't even have the money to pay for your own _bikeー_ which is why you keep stealing them from some random guys on the streetーmuch less to pay someone to fix a door. And what repairman is actually gonna set foot on this school? To the outside world, we're probably just a nesting ground of lunatics." _And they aren't wrong,_ he heard his partner mumble under his breath. If anyone else had heard him say that, they would've automatically assumed he was talking about Murayama, or the rest of the part-time students (although Murayama was technically graduated), or of Yasushi and Kiyoshi's group, who were notorious for beingーput very bluntly and to the complete agreement of the two in questionーcompletely insane. Todoroki himself had a fairly well-built reputation as well, alongside Tsuji and Shiba. And there were more students, likely, that Fujio might not have met or seen, but the point was that the logical course of assumption would be thinking Tsukasa was saying what he had with those very concrete and obvious examples in mind. 

Yet he can't shake the suspicion that his calm and collected friend is actually talking about _them,_ although he can't say for sure which one in particular. One thing about Tsukasa is that he has a tendency to overthink, as opposed to his partner, whoーeveryone saysーthinks less. But Fujio can think, and he thinks of his partner much more than he realizes; in fact, he doesn't even seem to think Fujio thinks of him at all. A one-sided thing that only he believes in, but is completely satisfied with. And that might very well be, he thinks to himself ruefully, the "craziness" he envisions: even if his words were indications of a joke, using simple examples behind it, his subconsciousness brought up a small, secret thought he may have been harboring. Because Fujio can, despite not being the sharpest or the brightest the world has to offer, sense these things; it's not easy, but if you watch a person for years, then it becomes like second nature at times. Other times, it's harder to read; the trouble with his childhood friend, upon his return and leading into the fight between Oya and Housen, is enough proof. 

Fujio knows every student in Oya High lacks a certain normalcy, and he also senses that it's more complicated than he may be able to deal with. And he knows Tsukasa is one of them, and he knows that the blonde has the confidence to see through Fujio, just as he has the confidence to see through Tsukasa. Each believes that they know more, see more, but are far better at keeping it normal, at simplifying or outright hiding it. And who knows, he thinks, they may both be right, or they may both be wrong.

Maybe that's why they're crazy. Maybe they see too much of either, and it's driven them both mad.

* * *

Two days after the fight, most of Fujio's scrapes and bumps have gone down, and the worst of his bruises have faded into fainter colors, no longer completely noticeable even up close. It doesn't stop him from rushing headlong into fights, although the immense aches afterwards leave him groaning on the roof, or sprawled out in the abandoned nurse's office at their school. It's there now for anyone looking for a quiet place to nap, because (as necessary as it is in light of Oya High's purpose), there is not a single professional there willing or accustomed to patching up battered teenagers with more injuries on their face than children would get on their arms and legs after falling off of a bicycle. No one comes working in a high school medical bay expecting to mend the wounds of a kid who looks like they fell out of a window and slept in a field of glass. So it's rarely used, except for when certain someones keep pulling a muscle or reopening a wound in their enthusiasm for a fight even while recovering, leading to their partners having to attain some rudimentary medical knowledge to be able to at least patch them up.

It got to the point that, over time, Tsukasa started to patch up Fujio no matter where they went; if they weren't at Oya High, he would let him into his apartment, or Fujio would beg him to come to his. Sometimes they let themselves into the public bathroom of a drugstore somewhere on the way, grabbing a few boxes of bandages and some ointment, ignoring the wide-eyed looks of the employees or the stares of other shoppers. The other day Fujio had started screaming at Tsukasa not to cover his eyebrow with the bandage, resulting in them arguing at the top of their lungs with each other, forcing the manager to intervene before they started a fight, then and there.

(Tsukasa hadn't covered his eyebrow with the bandage. His partner knew, by then, how to patch someone up neatlyーwhich was more than he could say for himself, or anyone else. He had managed to figure out the most efficient ways to cover someone with a bandage, and the right amount of ointment that kept the wraps from slipping or making the patientーin every case Fujioーuncomfortable.)

Today they had been heading home when they had seen a fight brewing between Nakagoshi's group and some other group from another school. He had, as instinct dictated, rushed into the fray. It had been fun, but one of the worst of his wounds had reopened, and after a very heated and exciting match and a short conversation with his juniors, Tsukasa had taken one look at the spot of blood on his shirt, sighed, called him an idiot, and dragged him out of the park while he waved his farewells to the others. 

"My apartment is closer," his partner had sighed, giving him a look of faint resignation. "We can drop off Jamuo, and then I'll patch you up." His voice brooked no room for argument. Not that Fujio would've argued anyway.

After they had dropped Jamuo off, Tsukasa had helped him into the small, aged apartment the former called home, the light in the entrance off, giving the whole space a cold and unfriendly feel. By then his footsteps were getting a little unsteady; the wound had been larger than he had thought, and reopening it had brought with it a fresh new wave of blood and uncomfortable pain. It took some maneuvering through the cramped apartment to Tsukasa's room, where he was very unceremoniously dumped on the bed. Not a second later Tsukasa had left and come back, a medical kit in one hand and a cup of water in the other. Without a single word, his partner was folding up Fujio's shirt, carefully cleaning the wound, ointment and gauze at the ready, which he applied with care on the reopened tear. His forehead was creased and his mouth drew a tight line as he began wrapping the wound, each layer of the white bandage covering Fujio's side like an armor. Finally he tore one end off the roll, tucking it firmly and taping it down, each movement as precise as he could make it. They both knew it would be better for Fujio to go to someone with more expertise, but he knew neither of them wanted that, for their own reasons. As Tsukasa's hands slowly begin to put away the medical equipment, a cloth stained with blood at his lap, he catches himself following their movements discreetly, eyes cast downwards so his partner can't see what he's watching. The blonde doesn't notice, anyway, instead standing to leave the room, pushing the cup of water towards Fujio in an almost abashed gesture. 

The large bruise is still there, he knows, on Tsukasa's face. He knows because the bandage is still thereーit had been fresh and white this morning, but now it's worn and slightly grayed, not filthy in the slightest but showing evidence of being worn for a whole day. Outside he can see the sun setting, and he knows, one way or another, Tsukasa is going to want him to stay, but disguise it under the pretense of having him leave, however forcible he has to be. It's always like that, he thinks; unless he says outright he wants to go to and stay at Tsukasa's house, the latter never says outright he wants Fujio to stay in his room. But some nights he worries about leaving him here, aloneーworries, yes, but it's not the only thing he feels, although voicing it aloud makes him feel sort of guilty, even in his mind. 

Tonight, though, as he waits for Tsukasa to return, he decides he wants to stay, no matter how much the blonde tries to get him to go home. His mom is still out at his grandfather's place, not having been able to move back as abruptly as Fujio had decided to, so in the end, they will both be alone in the dark, two wounded animals left in a rundown apartment with wounds on their backs and aches in their bodies. It's not just that, thoughーwhen his mind flashes back to the white bandage covering his partner's cheek, clumsily applied in comparison to his own, something urges him further to stay. 

There's the sound of the door opening, and he glances up to see his partner staring at him, concerned. Flashing him a bright smile, while also jokingly rubbing his stomach to mime pain, he tries to put the other at ease. It works, he thinks, because his friend's face lights up slightly, and despite it's marring he decides to find satisfaction in this, because, as often as Tsukasa smiles at him (and him more than most), it's still a sight he adores. He wonders how the other would react if he just said it outright; would he show embarrassment, or be oddly pleased? Sometimes he wonders if he should drop his patience and simply admit to everything outrightーhow refreshing it would feel. Yet he doesn't; it's no one's fault, really, just something in him that toys with their current distance, gauging how far he can read the other before everything becomes clear. 

"It's getting lateー" is how Tsukasa always starts, but this time Fujio isn't playing this game of cautious distance-keeping, instead leaning forward, cross-legged and sitting on Tsukasa's bed, which is cold and neat, not a wrinkle in the sheets to be found. His blood is staining them, however, but he doesn't feel as guilty as he should, and instead continues to stare, unabashed, into Tsukasa's eyes, which are a warm and lovely shade of brown, and swimming confusedly. 

"Can't I stay?" he asks, offering his clearly flustered partner a warm smile, a hint of devilish teasing under it. 

"Iー" Tsukasa's gaze swims, and he licks his lips nervously. His eyes follow the movement, but the blonde teen doesn't notice, too busy trying to formulate a proper response.

Deciding that one more push would do it, he gives the other boy his most pleading and puppy-like stare. "Don't you want me to stay? I mean, if you really want me to go home..." The last bit trails off as he stares at his partner, who is now biting his lip. For a second, he panics, worried he had overdone it with the performance, but then Tsukasa sighs, turning his head to the side, but not before Fujio catches a glimpse of apple-red cheeks and averted eyes. 

"Fーfine, you can stayーjust, just let me get out the extra blankets, then." Before he can respond Tsukasa has left, only to pop his head back in to ask, face still a warm red, "What do you want for dinner?" He looks even more embarrassed after the words come outーhe always is, even though he's asked Fujio the same question numerous times. 

Fujio hums, rocking back and forth on the sheets. "Anything's fine," he responds, before adding on, brightly, "Anything you make is good, anyway."

"...Shut up." Tsukasa mumbles, like a sulking child, pulling his head out of the doorway. If Fujio chases him now, his face is probably even more red; no one at Oya, or anyone else who knew them, for that matter, probably knew this, but Tsukasa, as Fujio had discovered, had an oddly bashful side. It was charmingly cute, in his opinion, and he liked to prod fun at it at times. 

Before Oya, in middle school, Tsukasa had been wholly unaccustomed to natural praise. Jamuo had often spoken highly of him to others, and Tsukasa had seemed alright with the admiration of his junior, but when Fujio had first tried to shower him with compliments it had backfired in a way that shocked them both. Had he mused on it a little more, he would have noticed that the kids who looked up to Tsukasa tried to praise him at a minimum (even though they obviously had wanted to do it more), instead voicing all their admiration about him to others, broadcasting their respect and adoration for their aloof and quiet senior. Jamuo had later told him that, at some point, the kids had all caught on that Tsukasa was not always the most positively responsive to the best of praise. It made a guy wonder how someone came to be like that, where being told your best traits terrified or annoyed you, or you were so unaccustomed to it that you can only lash out, wondering what the other truly means behind their words.

Tsukasa's apartment is hauntingly quiet, save for the faint sounds of its sole inhabitant using the kitchenーthere's the rhythmical tapping of a knife on a cutting board, and the soft bubbling of boiling water; the sound of the old fridge opening and closing, each swing of the door delayed because it's been around (apparently) since before they were even born. Each and every time Fujio had tried to take something from Tsukasa's fridge, he had slowly accustomed himself to the force with which he had to pull the door, the resistance surprising him quite a bit. One time Tsukasa had nearly punched him for almost breaking the door, after furiously yanking it so hard the hinges had actually made dangerous snapping noises, scaring the two of them quite a bit. 

(In the back of his mind he wonders what has happened to the other denizens of this apartmentーyet at the same time he feels he already knows, has a guess at least. Tsukasa doesn't talk about his home, ever, and a memory flashes of when his friend had jokingly commented about moving to the countryside Fujio had been in, once. Both of them had known it was a joke, but, holding his arms in the chill of the apartment, Fujio reckons if Tsukasa had wanted, he very well could have; there was very little stopping him. Very little holding him back.)

His phone buzzes and when he looks, it's a message from Shinya, asking where he was. Tapping out a response, he watches as the Line group's messages steadily come in, following Shinya's comment; Madoka's exasperated concern, Masaya's amused follow-up, Seiji's gentle appeasing, Arata's somewhat cautious questioning. He smiles, sends the message reading "At Tsukasa's! I got all bloody again and he fixed me!" accompanied by a sticker of a bunny giving a thumbs up, before cautiously padding out of the room, trying to keep the bedroom door from creaking as much as possible. When he peers into the kitchen, Tsukasa isn't there; the stove is burning at a low flame, a delicious smell wafting out of the pot. There are two sets of plates out, and the rice cooker is on, the timer also hitting zero. The dim light of a single light bulb casts eerie shadows over the tiny room, but the smells give it a homey and comforting feel, and Fujio mentally pats himself on the back for pushing to stay. If he had gone home, he might've just wound up eating whatever leftover spicy foods he had in his kitchen (not that those weren't good, but fulfilling dinners always did their part best). 

But the scene was missing its inhabitant, and Fujio had a guess where he was. Or had, when he heard the soft, almost nonexistent noises coming from the shower room, which was connected to the kitchen by a single sliding door made of wood. Gently walking up to the door, he put his hand on itーand then, deciding against knocking, he instead pulled back the door, softly and slowly, not bothering to disguise the noise to let his friend know he was coming in.

"Tsukasa," He stared at his friend, voice gentle and comforting. "What are you doing?"

His partner stared back at him as if he himself wanted to ask that question. The bandage had come clean off his face, revealing the purplish bruise still sitting there in all its flower-like glory. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled back, revealing arms crossed with numerous bruises and cuts. Some of them bled fresh, as if they had just opened, and there was a small cut on his finger, so out of place that for a second Fujio could only focus on that: on the small sliver of red oozing fresh blood onto the worn tiles below. The lights were off, but even in the dying light fading from outside he could see his friend's face clearly, could see the dead and expressionless look as he gazed back at Fujio, taking in his appearance and yet not registering it at all.

"I..." Tsukasa's voice is hoarse, and he blinks at Fujio in a sudden panic, as if finally noticing he was there. "I cut myself when I was chopping the vegetables, andー" There's a note of anger there, but whether it's at Fujio for intruding so abruptly or at himself for getting caught, he can't tell. 

Which would explain the small cut on his finger, Fujio reckons, but it doesn't explain the rest of the wounds; they're all obviously older, most likely from the fight two days ago, or maybe more recent, but not a single one has been properly tended, all of them raw against the snow white of his friend's pale skin. Some of them have obviously reopened once, or perhaps even twice. The bruises throb painfully, and it's doubtful that they've even been held against ice or anything similar at all. 

Fujio thinks back to the carefully wound bandages around his wounds, the ointment rubbed in with great care. He thinks of the repeated warnings and the sighs of exasperation as his wounds come back to be tended, again and again, every time he rushes headlong into the next great adventure. He thinks about how each and every wound he has tended causes him no end of joy; they're proof, he thinks, of the carefully kept distance they maintain, allowing them both to intrude just the right amount on the other without it becoming stressful. 

He hadn't thought about the risks, or how far it would entail. Because in the back of his mind, he knewーhad always knownーthat Tsukasa didn't have the things he did, had never properly had them; known it was him who had brought those slowly into his lifeーpraise, smiles, banterーand carefully balanced them between the two like a tightrope walker. And he had known that Tsukasa had, at some point, started seeing nothing but himーand he knew others knew too, knew from the fierce way Yasushi sometimes glowered at them, caught between twisted sympathy and plain discomfort. But even as he had known, he hadn't thought...

"Tsukasa." He tries to keep his voice bright, gentle and coaxing. "Why didn't you say? I could've helped you, y'know. I can wrap a bandage or two myself, as long as I can see where I'm wrapping it." _That's why I can't do it to myself most of the time,_ he adds with a laugh, but his partner is only staring at him with something akin to desperation, shaking his head. 

"You're hurt," he continues, as if to coax a scared animal from hiding. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine." Tsukasa's voice is forceful; he's rolling his sleeves down again, face turned away as he desperately tries to hide the blossoming lilac on his cheek. 

"Let me see." Fujio is already kneeling down, hands on his partner's arm, as soft a touch as he can manage, because if he touches him now, he's liable to break his partner apart.

"Fujio, I'm _fine._ "

But he doesn't falter, trying to peer into his partner's face. "Let me see."

"I saidー"

" _Tsukasaー_ "

"Give it a rest already!" Suddenly he is shoved aside, with more force than he had bargained, stumbling backwards and landing on the kitchen floor, through the door he had left open. The pot is still gently brewing its contents, and the rice cooker beeps, announcing its success. But none of those things catch his attention so much as when Tsukasa keels over, hand covering his stomach. The same spot, he realizes, that he had been hurt, where Tsukasa had been wrapping him up not even an hour ago.

He's at his partner's side again, and this time, there is little the blonde can do to stop him as he carefully pulls back his sleeves, pulls back his shirt, looking at every bruise and marking. His partner doesn't care, he knows, about his own pain. It's always been Fujio: Fujio's pain, Fujio's pleasure, Fujio's anger, his sadness, his excitement, everything. At some point, there had been no sense of two separate beings, and instead a closely knit duo that made up one unit. Tsukasa had thrown his life to be a part of Fujio's, knowing he couldn't, one way or the other, survive on his own; he was wholly dependent on someone else, had a deep desire to be _something_ as dictated by someone. But the distance had provided him with the thrill of _having_ someone so intangibly close and yet foreign next to him, and despite knowing, at some point down the line, that strings were becoming tangled between them, he ignored it to gaze at that which he had coveted as beautiful, which he had fought and helped and hurt and trusted. 

He brings a cloth hanging near the mirror, wetting it with the end of the shower head as he runs the fabric over marred skin, each mark a terrible gash telling him of the chasm they had both fallen. A chasm that he isn't wholly sure he wants to even leave yet. The thought comes unbidden, and there is very little yearning in him to deny itーhe's always been honest with his emotions (as honest as he could get), even the ones he knows aren't right. Tsukasa's look of pain becomes less strained, relaxing a little at Fujio's touch, far from experienced but gentle and caring enough. The look is unbearably and hauntingly ethereal, and as he lifts the bleeding hand gently towards him to wipe the blood off, he's seized by a feverish bout of emotions, threatening to tear him up from the inside. His partner opens his eyes to give him a questioning look and, shooting him his usual bright and confident smile, he carefully lifts the bloodied finger to his lips, pressing his tongue against it to take the blood off. The taste of iron filled his mouth, and he held it there for a while, ignoring the other's small gasp or faintly pained whimper, before he finally pulled away to smile more deeply as he looked into his trusted partner's face. The sharpness of the blood was slowly vanishing from his mouth, and he pulled closer to his friend's ear to whisper, as he continued to wipe his wounds,

"You're my partner, just as much as I'm yours. I'll care for your wounds, and I'll do anything to keep you close to me," He gave a soft chuckle, the sound deep in his throat, and he felt Tsukasa shudder slightly next to him, the tips of his ears reddening. "You think you're the only one of us who needs me, but I need you, too. You're mine."

Forever now, he prays, and always.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Y'know I might make this into a series. Because both this and Under the Layers of Gold are told around the same time (like winter-ish?) And I might write more so maybe I'll just compile it under a single series...
> 
> I can make no excuses for this except that I may have started writing this during a feverish bout of stress. I was in a slump so I half-vented when I began writing the premise of this, and this entire mess was the result. Sometimes I ironically deprecate myself but then sometimes I don't and I wind up writing or making things to reflect that, so this may be rather confusing. 
> 
> So anyway. The story. In my last one-shot I head-canoned that Tsukasa probably wasn't always the best partner (or the best person) even after he met Fujio (as in, he was super violent and kinda crazy in his own way). I also figured since no one bothered to write into his past canonically, I would head-canon about that too. He strikes me as someone who's overly dependent; he needs someone to give his life direction, or he just falls apart (hence the title). He doesn't care too much about himself (he punched a freaking glass bottle), only Fujio, because in his mind his partner is his guide, which later escalates to this idea that he's being kept alive by his bright and all-encompassing partner, his polar opposite, who has everything he doesn't (in his mind). But I also think that Fujio knows this, and despite being a happy-go-lucky shounen manga-ish protagonist, he also thinks deeply in his own way, and he's also got a touch of his own brand of craziness. In my twisted self-indulgent ideas, I rarely see good partners as just that: on the outside they're the ideal, but on the inside they share a brand of craziness that acts as one of the factors holding them together. Tsukasa needs his partner to keep going, and Fujio wants to keep it that way between them, until he realizes how bad things have become, forcing him to choose between confronting their "madness" or leaving it be and delaying the inevitable. Really dark, right??
> 
> Also, the FEARS MV sort of threw me into this twisted loop and since everyone had a field day with lore and "dark" ideas for the story concept, I figured (even if this has nothing to do with FEARS) I would have my own fun with the "dark and twisted".
> 
> And if you're wondering, the meal was stew, and it didn't burn. The water bubbled pretty fiercely, but those two noticed (at least, Tsukasa did). I'm sure they'll be fine.


End file.
